


Arrow For My Dh'oine

by Not_Your_Dhoine



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Swimming, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Chubby Iorveth, Dragon Age game mentioned, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, International Fanworks Day 2021, M/M, Modern AU, Romance, Scars, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28317711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_Your_Dhoine/pseuds/Not_Your_Dhoine
Summary: "My arse, my rules.""Glad that your arse rules."
Relationships: Iorveth & Vernon Roche, Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Kudos: 20





	1. Iorveth foam-born

_Here I am_

_Rock you like a hurricane_

_© Scorpions_

This song from the swimming pool radio was usually being played when Vernon was leaving the locker-room. Unlike this morning.

“I seem to be quite late…”

“Seem to be just on time, Mr. Roche. Here it is your locker key. Have a good training.”

The receptionist showed no sign of interest in the reason of his delay. Which was quite a common one:

just the day before the training, Vernon’s old grumpy and lame bulldog Dijkstra enjoyed chewing both his slippers and the swimming trunks.

Such a treason from this son of the bitch!

“I clearly remember having no other pair in the wardrobe, you know that, naughty boy!” Vernon jumped into his Renault Elf, rushing to the nearest sport shop in a desperate hope not to miss his usual training time. He liked order in life.

Of course, he was late – tossing towels to the bench and unzipping the hoodie, when everyone else were enjoying themselves in the pool.

The water in the showers was murmuring. Somebody is forgetting to turn off the water again, huh, wasting Temerian riches! Vernon followed the noise with his eyes.

An elf was standing under the running waters, and its chlorinated smell was powerless in front of the pink crème soap bubbles surrounding the pointy-eared figure. As long fingers were running through the dyed “Black № 1” hair reaching the shoulder blades, Vernon noticed an empty eye-socket above a heavily hacked cheek, blushing from a warm relaxation.

Gazing along the long scar, Vernon glanced lower – where the net of fire burn traces was twining the elf’s long arms, the chest and the soft right thigh. Although the scars on the thigh were not so obvious, hiding under the wreaths of emerald leaves. Elegant herbs and wild flowers added even more tenderness to a plump tummy…

Pulling the towel from the holder, Vernon wrapped himself up and entered the shower area.

Cold water – on. You are already late, Vernon.

When the murmuring water in the shower next to him silenced, the Temerian’s eyes followed the sound of wet footsteps.

The elf slipped a fancy green bathrobe with a hood on his bare body, looking like a hooded courier from Roche’s favourite RPG game.

Standing on the diving tower that day, Vernon seemed to hear how the locker room door closed with a slam from the wind. He scratched his nose. The smell of roses from the shower’s damp air seemed to be stuck between his fingers. Or in his head?

Doesn’t matter, as he had already been late once. Vernon jumped.


	2. It's Friday, Iorveth is who you want

«Was it not for the position written in my business card, I would definitely think I am working in the intelligent service!” – Ves caught the papers jumping from the printer.

“Any help needed?” Vernon scratched his chin following the running waterfall of Excel lines.

“Only If you flood the office with coffee.”

“Order accepted.”

“Oh, no, not the orders again!” - Ves rubbed her temples. “Who on Earth does and sends the customs paper scan like that? Do I need I spy and a magnifying glass to decipher the digits?!”

“Come on Ves, it’s Friday, we are to break through this deadline ambush!”

“Uhh, are you to pass the reception by? Please, be so kind and fetch my letter if any?”

Having put the PC into the hibernation mode, Roche left the room – legs to stretch, docs to fetch. Working in logistics made his mind stable and confident in feelings as well. Quite a decent salary and the team to rely on – especially after Ves joined. He and Ves knew each other back to the Blue Stripes – role play martial squad.

Blue Stripes. Oh, not again. Mug is full to the brim. Not to burn oneself again.

“Oh, thank you, Vernon. A friend in need is a friend…Ooops, it is yours, isn’t it?” Ves handed to Roche a small square, made from a shiny sap green carton.

“No…What’s this? And advertisement… Must have occasionally fetched, thanks.”

_SCOIA’Tattoo & Piercing. _

_(Make 3 holes in your body – get a honey coat massage for three)._

_“Anthill” Business Centre, open hours: 2/5 7/24_

The reverse side contained a beautiful emblem – crossed arrows etched in gold – and a QR code.

Before going back to work, Ves raised her eyes to the Vernon’s shoulder – where, as she remembered from their bare arms forest fights, three lilies were blossoming on the emblem.

Although, instead of “blossoming” she would prefer to describe it as an “unlucky blue tulip trampled to the ground”.

Maybe this was the reason, why Vernon had it now hidden under the sleeve. Although their office dress-code allowed tattoos. Maybe this was not.

\-----

“Hello, boy, if you are her’ ’bout honey massage, I already told them – it’s for free, not for “three”. And I am not doin’ it. I do only piercing her’. My name is Zoltan, by the way.”

When a dwarf in a pink T-shirt “If found drunk please return to Eudora” finished the firework of speech, Vernon smiled:

“I want to do a cover-up, actually. And my name is Vernon.”

“Glad to meet, I hope. In such case, Iorveth is who you want.”

“Iorveth?”

“Yep. The guy, and a damn good at this, but he is off today. You’d better leave a message in our group. Look, her’ – press the phone to the card, scan… Here we are, wow, magic happened!”.

The same arrow emblem was used for the avatar.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s actually Iorveth, who invented to use all these didgi-fidgi things.”

“Ok, thank you, I’ll check.”

“See you later. One more thing to ask for the road – maybe you want some nipples to pierce? Look, 2 nipples and 1 one nose, for example, make 3… And the honey massage is yours…No? Bo-oring…”


	3. In the name of eternal love

“Bro, are you with me? Just the time for one more quest before washing this pink dye off!”

Iorveth smiled at Ciaran, who was potato-coaching with a shower cap waiting for another round of adventures with Zevran paused at the PC screen.

“Wait a sec, got a message to see.”

“Another dh’oine with a strong desire to cover-up tits of his ex being inked on his ass in the name of eternal love?”

“Seems to be something else.”

“Anyway, Zevran is almost in love with me, and If you miss watching his sweet kisses, I will not replay them for you.”

Waiting the dialogue window to open, Iorveth sighed relaxingly: two brothers – him and Ciaran – had not so many evenings to spend together with, especially after Ciaran’s finding a new night shift job after leaving the rehab. Did this make their get-together more valuable? With Iorveth sketching new design from his head and Ciaran stretching legs in old fluffy socks with a squirrel pattern…

_Hello, my name is Vernon, and I’d like to have a tattoo cover-up. With something of floral pattern. Could you please do something with this? And what about the price?_

Open the photo.

Ouch. I would rather it had been tits. The lean arm was butchered with a blue cyanosed lilies on the emblem. Iorveth would call the lines indistinct if they actually WERE the lines.

 _Hi, with floral pattern like what? Another lily? As for the price it would be…_ (Iorveth took his usual price for cover-up and added about 1/3 of it to the sum).

The status circle near _Vern.On Roche_ hit the green light.

Iorveth followed the link of Vernon’s name.

Pff. Typical repentant Temerian ultra. Scheming thug, hiding his dark (rather dark blue) past under the common citizen photos and subscriptions – white collar pics from logistics conference, strolls in the Viziman woods, “Foltest Night club”, “Princess Adda stand – up”, “Temerian brewery”, “Bachelor kitchen…”

Psht! Bachelor kitchen… Wonder, why had this one yet not married and had a bun in someone else’s oven like the other brats ?

Iorveth scrolled down the list of Roche’s friends. Only 20 of them, and not even the name ever mentioned in crime stats… Just a goddamn bunch of “Roach Express Logistics”... Wait, isn’t it located in the business center, where Zoltan found nothing better to do than rent a studio room…

And not even the single repentant posts in the feed about all-race love, eternal equality… Only the old grumpy bulldog pouring the cozy pillow with saliva…

_No, definitely not the other lily… Honestly speaking, I’d like to have your advice on the design._

Iorveth broken upper lip stretched into a malicious smile.

Friendship request. Send. Need advice? Then come closer, Temerian bastard.

_Vern.On Roche accepted your friendship request._

Iorveth shifted to his personal page and started a new dialogue:

_Hi, Vernon, need advice? Then do not hesitate to choose any of the artworks at my page, and I elaborate the design._

_… Vern.On Roche is typing…_

_Ok, I’ll let you know in a half of an hour maybe! The price is quite reasonable, and I’d like to book the session anyway…_

Iorveth checked the Zoltan’s schedule in studio docs so that not to be alone in a room.

_I am glad to meet you in the middle of the week or next Saturday. Better choose the time to be fully relaxed and rested._

“Ciaran! Chop-chop to the bathroom. Till the dye would not make your brain pink.”

“Like in the good old times!”

“We were not that much old then… Not too hot? ”

Upon rubbing Ciaran’s neck with the sponge to avoid messy hair dye spots, Iorveth ran his fingers into the brother’s hair. Pinkish water streamed. This was his first coloring for the last decade, but the brother’s fingers could still find and feel the scar above the pointy right ear. The scar from the silver chain.

“Temerian pride, they say...” Ciaran whispered, sliding down the night club backstage door wall. His torn leather jacket turned crimson.

“Pride?”

“Yes…”, the elf gulped, lying stretched in the ambulance. “It’s all about the pride… of those like you, they say. I am… to die this night, but you…”

“No, never!”

“You…never forget…your pride…”

The scar thinned with time.

\---

Tossing the towel to the arm chair, Iorveth woke up the laptop.

_I chose the pic. Could you please do smth like this?_

It was Iorveth’s own thigh in the photo. Covered under the most beautiful watercolor wreath, the scars remained. The scars. From the night, when Ciaran picked him up home from the rehearsal. A year after the concussion he was still feeling dizzy from time to time. “But not this time, brother, fasten your belt, yahoo!”

It was the fastened belt, which spared Iorveth’s life that night. The whole life spared. Except for the right eye. And a couple of dozens bones broken.

_This pattern is not to be repeated. You’d better choose another one._


	4. And he chose

Trying not to walk into Zoltan’s “chest” with all kinds of ear-rings of dwarven style – his business partner was just piercing another dh’oine – Iorveth poured some coffee and started scrolling through the gallery at the tablet. To pick the image of his design taken in the most proper light.

On the design-choosing evening the Temerian jackass happened to be an inventive one. And he chose.

_…Vern.On Roche is typing…_

_Maybe you could add such flower crown on a dog’s head then? I have a dog!_

Glad for you beyond belief!

_It is possible to arrange. Just send me a pic of your dog, the higher a resolution is, the better._

Iorveth surely wouldn’t like to fight his way through the albums of repentant Temerian ultras looking for a sweet little dog. Should be noted, the dog was, no, not little and, yes, truly sweet – would be unfair to avoid admitting the fact.

The needles were anticipating behind the shining doors of medical cabinet.

Apparently, the urge to subject Blue Stripes bastard to the torture – desired by the both sides, as that Temerian paid timely in advance to book the session – made the elf’s work even more pleasant. In addition to the flower crown of orchids on the grumpy trustful muzzle, Iorveth painted an arrow, which the dog was holding between his teeth like a branch. Send.

_…Vern.On Roche is typing…_

_WOW! Amazing! Did you draw it with your hands?_

_No, a squad of magic squirrels jumped and painted it for me :)_

_Can’t wait for the Saturday!_

_Looking forward to meet you as well, Vernon._

VernOFF.

“Hello, ma’am. No, we don’t pierce ears to the 3-year olds here.” Upon answering the call, Zoltan slammed the door after his last client and was fidgeting with the keys swinging it like the battle axe.

“Zoltan, if I were you, I would take care of the only elven eye registered in our business assets.”

Iorveth was one year from Art College graduation when the eye- (and mind-) losing accident happened. Rehabilitation took longer than planned, and after the elf was able to stand on his shaking legs, another need for rehab appeared – then with Ciaran, who started burying his burden of guilt under the waves of Temerian rye vodka. The rehab he was released from that year – private and more expensive, was his fourth. And his last. Believing that was the only religious thing in Iorveth.

He got his art diploma, though. Hiding loneliness under the folds of his academic gown on the last celebration day. The more time it took to get a new habit of drawing with the only one eye, the farther out of sight went all his student mates. Till they got lost.

As his skill remained unharmed and blossomed with time, places like Zoltan’s studio opened their doors and treated the one-eyed tattoo artist as an exotic entertainment. Iorveth got reputation in certain circles. 

It was the circles, where he allowed pain and could stop it with the only move of his hand. The drawings he elaborated to cover all his scars took quite a substantial area on the wall in the Toruviel Parlour - his first workplace both as an artist and a tattoo model. Apart from Ciaran, the tattoo crew were the first to see his mutilated body.

Iorveth wondered, why that Temerian brat found no one else to cover up his “dark past stamp” and chose him instead. The elf wore a black eye-patch on his profile pic. All the comments were closed, as in addition to the criticism, he was receiving the thing, which irritated him more than all the trolls, orcs, ogres and other online beasts… Kindness from strangers they called it. The affirmations that he was beautiful. Handsome.

Nobody would cheat him with all this body-loving speeches, which were coming in fashion, especially among the dh’oine. Pff. As usual – take any good idea and spoil it by making it fashion. To cover all their lies. Kaz’ plump elves were not only a rare case, but plump people in general were allowed to be acceptable only by being soft and squishy in the proper places. And to explain that his weight fluctuated after a horrible trauma, and that "energetic walks in the forest, do it" program still cost him a vast amount of chronic pain sometimes - to explain that was the last thing he was going to do.

It was not for them to decide whether he is handsome or not. Whether he is enough. Whether he has enough eyes. My arse, my rules.

“Glad that your arse rules, but could you please listen, ma boy, heh? That’s better. I am tryin’ to tell you that tomorrow Eudora and me have a family dinner. That’s why I moved all the piercings to Sunday, and tomorrow you’re all alone in her’. Take the keys.”

The silver chain jingled being dropped on the studio table.


	5. Bark up the wrong tree

_You can take my home, take the place i go_

_But you never get me down_

_Baby, when i fall, i stay up and grow_

_I will never leave this town_

@ Blue System – Under my skin

Iorveth was humming the words (why on Earth is Zoltan always changing the radio station from “Brokilon FM” to dh’oine pop? ) making sure all the preparations were done.

He had long awaited their meeting. Laid out a tattoo kit, set up the chair in the most comfortable position… Comfortable for the so much wished-for torture. Would be performed in the best scoia’tael way, of course.

The flute sound of the doorbell.

“Oh, hi! Hope, I am not late. Knocked at the wrong door at first. You know, with all these business center catacombs like ours, it’s easy to bark up the wrong tree…”

“Glad to meet you, Vernon.”

Upon settling himself, Roche looked around - paying attention silently to the slight limp of his tattoo artist, though concealed then by the baggy joggers with the emerald floral pattern. The leaves print was perfectly tuned with the masterpieces on his arms. Dressed in a washed-out sleeveless shirt with “An Arrow for my Dh’oine” band logo, Iorveth was also wearing a crimson bandana, peculiarly using one of its ends as an eye-patch. His confident movements at the small medicine table were truly graceful.

“It’s so beautiful in here. Like… in a dryad temple…Oh, shall I prepare the arm already?”

“Yes.”

That amazing room design principle Zoltan and Iorveth adhered to – “toss away everything you do not need for work” – did the thing. Only natural atmosphere and a couple of small details left instead. The walls painted with colors ranging from pale to medium spring green. Floral patterns on the medical cabinet doors were in harmony with the big sun-facing windows, covered with the golden shutters. And two posters – one with the collage of Iorveth’s Top Nine Liked tattoo designs, while the dozens of ears, noses, lips, brows and other, more delicate, body parts, were shining with the newly acquired trophies - from the second advertisement.

Inspecting the “crumpled lily”, the elf cast also a glance at the guy. Not so lily-livered this one… To knock at their Scoia’tael lair.

“What? Something wrong?” Vernon scratched nervously his chest under the comfy sleeveless merch shirt, gained obviously at a role play festival. On its print the swords were crossing – faded and broken after many battles in the washing machine.

“No.”

The lean untanned arm. Usually not a painful place. The cover-up he wished for needs much more place, including the inner bicep. That supposes much more, more pain involved.


	6. Handle the pain with the eyes closed

“Is it ok if I close my eyes?”

“No problem.”

“Thanks then…” Vernon hummed humbly. “It’s been always easier for me to handle the pain with the eyes closed.”

Iorveth arched the eyebrow, making himself comfortable on a stool. Always handle the pain..? The elf looked at the calmingly shut eyes with the dark shades underneath. Morning stubble relaxingly unshaved. Casual tracksuits with the traces of home pet’s hair – apparently of the dog he is going to depict in flesh and blood right now.

The elf exhaled and made his tattoo machine gun buzz.

He expected something more. Someone more… sharp, perky…proud. With the Temerian pride. Like the man in front of the Blue Stripes theatrical performance on the central square at the Viziman city festival. Iorveth resented appearing in the city on the days like this, though he couldn’t stay at home then – needed to fetch the order at a local drugstore – for Ciaran’s detoxing therapy.

On that day he shouldered his way through, hiding his ears under the crimson woolen hood and mentally cursing in Elder Speech for the nearest 24/7 drugstore was open only in the central quarter. Someone got a leg in the festive crowd, pushing Iorveth to the metal barrier around the role play arena. That’s how he saw a skillfully fencing guy in a blue chaperone (neatly sewn) and a heavy silver (polymer clay makes us who we are, huh?) chain.

“Nice fencing as well as the outfit, don’t you think?” a teen girl asked somebody behind Iorveth’s back.

Very nice. To see the faces of all these Blue Stripes bastards becoming truly blue. With bruises. Under his hand.

***

Vernon grunted with a sound turning into suppressed wheezing – when the tattoo needle stroke was especially bold. Glad to have his teeth and eyes shut. Especially, the eyes.

Ouch.

On that day in the swimming pool he wasn’t going to look at the elf, never mind his thighs. If not for Dijkstra, they would not even have met! Moreover, never in his life had Roche the habit of gazing at the other men. I mean, naked. With pleasure.

Grr.

He recognized him like a charm. As soon as he hit the “Contacts” link on the Scoia’tattoo page. Why had he ever done that? Bring the Temerian lily to the lair of the nipple-piercing dwarf and go further and further until the cover-up message was sent. Why had he ever done that? He recognized the elf’s tattoo as soon as he recognized his talent. And no, never in his life was he thinking how the leaves and flowers from the photo go down…along the thigh…and up…to the heart beating under the scars.

No.

“Oh yes, look… just some reflections to make on the arrow, and we are done with your lily!”

The Temerian remained silent, looking at the small mirror with stunned amusement. The whole working process made Iorveth burn with such enthusiasm of inspiration that instead of making the last remark in the itching manner, his voice sounded with velvet warmness.

The elf stood up to make some stretches and fetch the new pack of medical gloves (usually ordered in golden and green).

Upon putting the last reflections, Iorveth raised the eye following the wet trace on Vernon’s shirt. Up to the face with the reddened lips tightly shut and the cheeks glistening from tears.

“We are almost finished. Now I am to wrap it and give you the aftercare instruction…oh, where have I put it?”

A long sniffing sob.

Iorveth never commented on someone’s crying in the process. He knew that sometimes the whole process meant the permission to cry from the controlled pain. Kaz’ the uncontrolled one too often gave us no right to cry.

“I will send you pictures.”

Roche remained silent even when the elf set the proper light to make a photo.

“Here is the tattoo goo mentioned in the note. Strongly recommend to follow my instruction.”

The elf left the aftercare goo and the note near the paper tissues on the table still not asking Roche about his tattoo satisfaction. Didn’t care whether he liked it or not. Small matter! So he is forever never mind. Iorveth turned his back.

No chance to leave unpaid, by the way – the door was locked, and it was Iorveth who had the key.

Longer sobs. And more sniffing.

The elf made a knot on the waste bin bag. Not a drop of Temerian blood spilt. In vain. He suddenly felt very tired. Had better go home. Is this Temerian ever going to get his blue striped arse set and go away?

The unbearably longest sob.

“Vernon, what happened? Are you feeling ok?”

“Yes.” Young man shook off his momentary grief, awkwardly pulling on the tear-sodden hoodie sleeve. “If you are waiting to be paid, I am almost there.”

He opened the banking app with his shaking hand.

These dh’oine, who are always saying that the elves have just lived up trees, do not even notice the paper tissues under their running noses.

“One more time, how much do I exactly owe you?”

“With the 500 as an advance you have 2500 orens to pay. No commission if you use Vivaldi Bank.”

Roche put the phone aside and raised his reddened hazel eyes.

“I use the Temerian Crown. Notification should come to you now.”

Here it is. Both were so tired that the previously “dh’oine tariff” price “3500” slipped their minds.

Would he ever relieve his couch from the burden of his ass?

“I didn’t tell you everything… Iorveth.”

“Hm, yeah?”

The sun beam reflected itself thoughtfully on the tattoo gun in the Iorveth’s hands and in the eyes of the Temerian.

“I mean…I didn’t tell you, why I cried.”

Do I have to know that?

“Pain is pain, I suppose.”

“No…I mean yes, but… not from tattoo pain. Absolutely not. You did a truly gorgeous thing.”

“Thank you.”

“I shall thank you. Kaz’ when you covered the lily up, you covered the shame I did. Once.”

Iorveth grinned.

“A mistake of youth, you mean? We all have them.”

“No, not all, and not like mine.”

“Well…anyway, tracks are covered, mess is cleaned.” Iorveth put the key into the lock to let him go. “Though…would be nice to know what exactly you did.”

Roche stepped across the threshold.

“Why?”

Iorveth still smelled with this rose soap.

“If you are worrying about my turning you in to the police for some rampage, don’t sweat it. Temerian police would either lose it on the wind or twist my words. Learning something about the crime I’ve just covered up would be good for my easy sleeping at night. You have the right to remain silent. Though…On the 1-10 scale of youth mistakes, what would its number be?”

“Ten. I kissed a guy. Once.”

The door slammed.


	7. And there is nothing wrong in kissing other guys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about the fic, not for a day xD Just needed time to accumulate all the ideas for this late blooming work and start sharing them one by one :3

“Ciaran, I’m home!”

Silence was the answer. Exactly, he is working the day shift now.

Contemplating the fact of his sudden absent-mindedness, Iorveth washed the hands and plonked himself on sofa. Upon running his fingers through the fur of the plushy red blanket for a while, he yawned and unblocked the phone screen. The last – and far more pleasant (according to the customers!) part of his job – for today: pics.

Though the result of this 3-hour bloodthirsty process required no filters, Iorveth increased the image clarity – making even the smallest curves on petals around the Vernon’s dog head visible. He opened the gallery with the “Before” pics. Time to post on SCOIA’Tattoo page…

_“If you have sins to cover up, we are always here, at…”_ Erase.

_“A good boy for a bad boy.”_ Erase.

_“Realistic animal tattoo. Designed individually. Questions about cover-ups / prices – just DM.”_ He pressed the cross in the corner of the downloaded “Before” pic of the Vernon’s bicep and posted.

Vern.On Roche – last active 4 hours ago.

_“Hello, Vernon. Here are some photos of your tattoo.”_ Send. And…

_“And there is nothing wrong in kissing other guys.”_ Erase.

_“And there is nothing wrong in what you did.”_ Erase.

_“And there is nothing wrong with you.”_ Send.


End file.
